The Prisoners

My first stab at alliteration within the poem, describes how we are all prisoners of time.

Phantasmagoric feelings,
Fading in and out of fantasy.
Superfluous signals,
Sent so that all can see.
While we watch;
Whittling wistfully the waning days of summer.
Draining dastardly
To the dashing beat of some hidden drummer.
Opportunities offered,
Only to be obliviously thought otoise.
Valiently vivacious;
Every thought of virility, vereified by your voice.
Tantalizing tranquility,
Tempted by the translucent traps.
Luxurious love;
Lost at the lasting summer's lapse.